


Down Time

by Kadorienne



Series: Silver Tongue, Golden Lasso [3]
Category: DCU, Sherlock (TV), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Crossover, F/F, F/M, Lassoverse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 05:54:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kadorienne/pseuds/Kadorienne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Natasha need to relax. Tony and Bruce Wayne mix alcohol, science, business and pleasure. Pepper and Anthea run the world. Steve learns how to dance. From the right partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Grey Bard for betaing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Natasha need to relax.

"So. You're a princess."

"In Russia we call them grand duchesses, actually."

"Right. So you're a grand duchess."

"Don't you know noble blood when you see it, Clint?"

When Thor had brought his now sort-of redeemed, supposedly reformed not-brother boyfriend back to Avengers Tower, Loki had formally apologized to every one of them for those of his crimes that had directly affected them. That had been... interesting. _"I apologize to all of you for bringing the Chitauri into New York. I was acting under duress, but that is not adequate excuse. I owe you all an immeasurable debt for stopping my invasion. Mr. Stark, I apologize for throwing you out the window of your tower. I am truly glad your armor reached you before you were killed. Agent Barton, I am genuinely sorry for subjecting you to mind control magic."_ And so on. Then he had offered them whatever magical services they desired in restitution. _"And, Agent Romanoff,"_ he had added, in ringing tones no doubt honed over centuries of Asgardian court life, _"should you ever decide to claim your rightful throne, I would be happy to help in any way I might."_

Nat hadn't batted an eye. _"I'll keep that in mind,"_ she'd said, as if this were a perfectly normal conversation. Then again, once you went into the superhero biz, your definition of "normal" tended to broaden.

As they spoke, both had unconsciously increased their pace. It was Natasha who noticed and made herself slow down, and Clint also reined himself in.

"If you want, once I have my throne, I'll make you a boyar."

"Thanks. I always wanted to be a boyar. What's a boyar?"

"They're like feudal lords. They get to have people flogged and cavort with peasant girls and so on."

"Oh, well, that sounds like fun." He forced himself to slow down. "Tash, we're walking fast again. We're not on a schedule here."

"Right, we're relaxing. Right." She tried to amble instead of march. "This is a relaxing place. Isn't it?"

The sun was bright and the temperature pleasant, just a hint of autumn in the warm air. It was a weekday, so few people were free to be strolling through the woods, and Clint and Natasha had left the well-marked trail behind some time ago. The only sounds came from birds and squirrels. Everywhere they looked were trees whose leaves were just beginning to turn yellow and red.

"It's very relaxing. Relaxing is good. Good for your health." Clint paused, scrutinizing the trees for lurking assassins out of habit. "Why don't we stop here? This is a pretty spot, isn't it?"

Natasha studied it critically. Thick green grass, gentle sunlight filtered through the canopy of leaves, and a tall tree offering shade if they became too warm. "I think so." She sounded uncharacteristically uncertain.

They sat on the sun-warmed grass and unpacked the food they had brought.

"So, really, are you one of _those_ Romanoffs? You never gave me a straight answer."

She arranged her face in her "femme fatale" expression. For many men, that expression was the last thing they saw on earth, but at least they died with a beautiful memory. "I think that adds to my air of mystery."

"Never thought I'd be hobnobbing with this much royalty." Clint scowled at his sandwich, then made himself gaze at the pleasant scenery around him instead. Today's mission was to relax. This was him, relaxing. "You're still planning to do the European mission with _him._ "

"Yes."

"Fury wouldn't make you. He can get someone else, someone with superpowers."

"It's a covert mission, Clint. How many people with superpowers have the right skills?"

Clint passed her the Tupperware bowl of carrot sticks. "Maybe I should go with you."

"You think I can't take care of myself?" Her tone was not offended; the question was rhetorical.

"I know you can better than anyone. But he's a superpowered alien wizard. What are you going to do if he reverts while you two are in Europe?"

She gave him a level look. "What was he like, while you were with him?"

It took Clint a minute before he could answer. Grudgingly, he said, "He was actually a pretty good employer, aside from, well, robbing me of free will. He didn't throw tantrums where he maimed people or anything. He asked what we needed to do our jobs and he got it for us. He actually listened when we told him things, unlike some people I've worked for. He'd have been a pretty good boss if he weren't, you know, evil."

"Good. Clint, taking out Moriarty's crime syndicate with Loki is my cover. The real mission is to see if he's really up to what he says he's up to."

"Even after the lasso."

"You know how devious he is."

"You played him on the helicarrier. He knows how devious _you_ are now. He'll be on his guard."

"He's conceited. He'll slip up again. C'mon, I thought we weren't going to talk shop today." She frowned up at the clear blue sky. "Do you think we've relaxed long enough?"

"I'm not sure. How long are you supposed to spend relaxing?"

"I don't know. We should have looked it up." She looked at him and wasn't able to hold back a smirk.

"We came all the way out here. We should try to get the most out of it. Do more relaxing things."

"Like what?"

Both of them looked around for a minute. "Watch birds?" Clint suggested.

"We don't have binoculars. We could go back to that creek we crossed and dabble our feet in it. People do that, right?"

"Are you kidding? That water's filthy. Anyway, that's not a creek, just a crick."

"You have a better idea? What would you have done if you'd come here when you were a kid?"

He shrugged. "Climb trees?"

Both of them looked up at the tree they were sitting under. It was perhaps thirty feet tall. The lowest branches were eight feet above the ground.

Natasha opened her pack. "There's a climbing technique I've wanted to try. All you need is a rope."

"You brought a rope?"

"Of course I brought a rope."

"We weren't supposed to bring anything but food."

"So you didn't bring anything?"

"Only a cell phone. In case there was an emergency. And a Swiss army knife. And some waterproof matches. And flares. Oh, and that micro-first-aid kit SHIELD gave you to keep in that tiny sequined purse you carry when you have to wear an evening gown on a mission. And, um, one of those thermal blankets that folds up to be really tiny." He looked at her, sheepish. "Just the essentials."

"Huh. I just brought a rope."

A couple of minutes later they had the rope doubled over one of the lower branches and Natasha was inching her way up it. She locked her feet on the rope by winding the rope around one foot and pressing the other foot to it, using the loop thus created to heft herself up. Once she had grasped a higher spot on the rope, she disentangled her feet from the rope, bent her knees, and relocked her feet a couple of feet higher on the rope.

"Doesn't look very safe," Clint remarked from the ground, watching her.

"It isn't." She pushed herself higher and planted her feet on the lowest branch. From there she swung herself from branch to branch, higher with each move.

Clint gave her a moment to get well clear of the branch supporting the rope before starting to climb the rope in the same fashion she had. "Always good to try new ways of climbing," he remarked when he reached the branches. Together the two of them worked their way higher, closer to the small branches at the top.

"People do this. I mean, they climb those super-tall trees, like redwoods. There's actually training and special equipment."

"We need to get some of that stuff."

"Yeah, but we can't always take all that stuff with us in the field. I think we should focus mostly on improvising with just ropes and things."

He joined her on the highest branches large enough to support them and they looked around for a minute. 

"This is relaxing, right? Enjoying a gorgeous view like this?"

"Yes. Definitely. This is definitely relaxing."

They looked around for another minute. Finally Natasha pointed.

"Let's try it on that tree."

"The fir? It's got to be at least fifty feet tall."

"Nah, not much more than forty."

"And it'll be all scratchy."

"Yeah."

"Let's do it."

They spent the next four hours climbing the tallest trees in the area, using the unsecured footlocking method. They fell a couple of times, but sustained no serious injuries. When they finally walked back to their car, grimy and tired, they agreed that their mission of relaxation had been accomplished. They decided to relax a least a couple of times a week from now on, and to take courses in extreme tree climbing. Relaxation was important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The climbing method Clint and Natasha try out is called [unsecured footlocking](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m1RSzKkBOWc&list=LLyDwTGg4nJ8GC5e00_-dTnQ) and is fairly dangerous. Kids, don't try this at home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Bruce Wayne mix alcohol, science, business and pleasure.

Bruce Wayne was irritated but not surprised to find Tony Stark waiting for him in the Batcave. "What did you upgrade this time?" he asked, resigned.

"Your Scotch. Imagine, Bruce Wayne, too cheap to buy decent whiskey." Tony poured a glass for Bruce and held it out to him.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you keep track of the days for my alcohol intake." Wayne accepted the well-filled tumbler.

"I don't. Jarvis does. If you're only going to get drunk on specified days, I'm not going to miss them." When Wayne took a deep swallow, Tony protested, "Hey, this is the good stuff! You gotta savor it."

"I don't drink for enjoyment. I can't allow myself a low tolerance for alcohol."

"Yeah, kind of a letdown if all you had to do to beat Batman was get a couple of drinks in him." Tony took a batarang off the rack on the wall and turned it over in his hands, absently testing its balance and the sharpness of its points.

Wayne took another swallow. "What have you observed about Loki?"

"Half the time he's depressed because he's back to being surrounded by people who only put up with him because they like his brother. Y'know, again. The other half of the time he's ecstatic that he's got his boyfriend back."

"Do you think he's playing Thor?"

"I think he plays everyone all the time, even when he means what he says. I don't think he's faking being in love. Even aside from that he admitted it during his bondage session with Wonder Woman, you should see how he looks at Thor." Tony shook his head in rueful wonder, replacing the batarang and prowling restlessly to the cases of mementoes. "All the time, man. Thor walks in and Loki's head snaps around to see if he still loves him since he left the room ten minutes ago. Thor smiles at him and he looks like he's just won the lottery. It'd be sweet if he weren't a mass murdering lunatic."

"So what about Thor?"

Tony sighed heavily, selecting one of the Penguin's old umbrellas to fiddle with. "He's so happy it breaks my heart." 

"Careful with that, that's the one with the spinning blades at the top." Tony examined the top curiously and then turned his attention to the handle. Bruce continued, "They say love conquers all. Let's hope they're right."

"Unless they're talking about Thor."

Wayne poured more Scotch and sat at a terminal. "I assume you've already uploaded whatever data you have."

"Oh yeah. Every kind of sensor I could think of, all over the Tower." He found the button that flicked the blades open and watched them spin. "Pretty sure Loki knows I'm doing it - he's being cagey about what magic he does on the premises. He does some kind of magic practice every day, but I haven't figured out where."

"Any anti-magic protocols we can run on him will be better than none."

"Yeah, well, I've found something even more important for us to work on." Tony closed the umbrella's blades and leaned over Bruce's keyboard to called up another set of files. "Stark Industries doesn't have a pharmaceuticals division, so I thought I'd pass this on to WayneCorp. Bruce found it. The other Bruce in my life."

Wayne put his drink aside as he read the article. He made the connection swiftly. "This could be a cure for Banner."

"It could. He's already at work on it, of course." Tony smiled, lopsided. "He's agreed not to tell Loki when he can't Hulk out anymore."

Bruce picked up his glass again and knocked it back. "I proposed to Pepper again today."

Tony refilled both their glasses. With no weapon to fiddle with at the moment, his fingers found their way into Wayne's hair, absently carding through it. "Yeah? What'd you offer her this time?"

"The usual." Wayne moved back a fraction and smoothed his hair back down. "A fancier job title, a penthouse office suite, more money than she can shake a stick at."

"I don't know, Pepper's pretty good at shaking sticks." Tony smirked, tracing Wayne's ear and then his jaw with a fingertip. "You'll never steal her from me, Bruce. She loves me."

"Women are such fools when it comes to men with big brown eyes." 

"Women, men, and nocturnal flying rodents." Tony widened his own eyes soulfully at Bruce, who tried to look unimpressed. 

"Bats aren't rodents, they're insectivores." 

"Oh. Anyway, Pepper's _my_ CEO, Bruce. You'll have to be content with Lucius Fox alone." Tony dropped his appealing expression at a sudden thought. "Though if you were willing to swap them, maybe we could talk."

"We can't talk." Bruce finished off his fresh drink, took Tony's from his hand and set both glasses down beside the keyboard, and stood up. He had drunk just enough that his hands fumbled a little as he drew Tony close for a Scotch-flavored kiss.

"We never talk anymore," Tony lamented before pulling Bruce's head down for another.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pepper and Anthea run the world.

Pepper was still firing orders into her cell phone when she walked into her apartment, which was all right because Anthea's fingers were flying over her Blackberry. Anthea sat composed on the sofa, champagne chilling in a bucket beside her, and Pepper paced back and forth in front of her as they both wound up the business of the day.

Pepper had just ended one call and was about to dial another number when Anthea broke the silence with a "Hm."

Pepper paused with her finger over the keypad. "What is it?"

"It's classified."

Pepper knew not to ask. Besides, she had business of her own to attend. She made her next call.

She had just confirmed that Stark Industries had successfully wooed a promising engineer away from WayneCorp, and instructed her assistant to send another copy of the usual form letter declining Wayne's latest job offer (Bruce Wayne had been trying to steal her from Tony since before Bruce and Tony had started dating, it was a tradition by now) when her personal email alert pinged. Only a select few had that particular address, so she crossed the room and tapped the keyboard to light the screen.

The email wasn't from any address she recognized. She sat down to take a closer look. After a minute, she glanced over at Anthea. "Huh," she said.

"Mm?" Anthea replied, not looking up from her Blackberry.

"I just got an interesting email. Information about a terrorist cell in Afghanistan that still has some Stark weapons."

"Fancy that. Maybe Iron Man and his friends should do something about that."

"Yeah, maybe they should. Luckily I got this random email from a total stranger. Information like this is kind of hard to come by."

"I'm sure it is."

"It could only come from, say, the CIA. Or MI6."

"It's the SIS nowadays."

"Whatever." Pepper connected with JARVIS, who would make sure Tony and nobody else got the information. Then she powered her computer down and left her cell on the desk beside it. Anything that didn't involve the building being on fire could wait.

Anthea clearly agreed; she had tucked her Blackberry away (sometimes it seemed to be surgically attached to her hands) and was pouring them both champagne. As she put the bottle down, Pepper sat down beside her and grasped Anthea's nearest ankle. Pulling Anthea's foot into her lap, she gently eased Anthea's red Manolo Blahnik off and started rubbing the sole of her foot.

Anthea wriggled her toes appreciatively and offered her other foot. "I thought it was my turn to do this."

"Mm, I thought a reward was in order."

"For what?" Anthea's innocent look would be convincing, if you didn't know better.

Pepper smiled. "I could tell you, but you'd have to kill me."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve learns to dance. From the right partner.

One advantage of being a superhero with a flashy costume was that you were almost never recognized in civilian clothes. Captain America and Wonder Woman strolled through Times Square hand in hand without a second glance in the swarming evening crowds.

"Did I tell you that he _thanked_ me? For saving that old guy he was going to kill in Stuttgart."

"Surely thanking you was honorable of him."

"Not the way he put it." Steve put on a bad imitation of Loki's haughty accent. "'I must thank you for stopping me before I was forced to kill that old fool. I had hoped that no civilian would take up my challenge, but there's always _one_.' Like his bravery was _inconvenient_." Steve shook his head, disgusted.

"What would you have us do with him, Steve?" Diana asked. It was an honest question, not a challenge.

He dipped his head forward and rubbed his neck. "I'm not complaining about the sentence. Fury's right, keeping him locked up is impractical. And while I can't say I'd shed any tears if they executed him, I've never _wanted_ to kill anybody."

"Then, is it that you believe Prince Loki beyond redemption?"

"No. I'm just not as hopeful as you that he'll find it."

"I pray that you are wrong, then." Her answer was not an argument, only the simple truth.

"So do I," Steve said, and that was also the truth.

The bright lights receded behind them as they wandered down the nearby streets, looking in the windows of closed shops, reading the menus of restaurants. "Have these streets changed so much during your decades of sleep, Steve?" Diana asked, seeing his wistful expression.

"They have, but I wasn't thinking about that." He gestured vaguely around the street, the nightclubs blaring music, the swanky restaurants offering five-course meals. "I never went to places like this. Never had the chance, or the money. Or anyone to go with. I always hoped that someday I would."

She squeezed his hand, looking up at him sympathetically. "And now you have."

He gave her a bittersweet smile, then stopped abruptly, lifting his head.

Diana stopped with him and followed his gaze. "That music - it sounds so different from the other music of Man's World."

"That's Big Band music." He swallowed. "It's what we listened to in... in my time."

She smiled. "I like it. And that sounds like a waltz tempo - let's go in!" She moved towards the door of the nightclub, but he remained where he was, holding onto her hand, and she stopped and looked back to him.

"You know how to waltz?"

"I had to learn when I went to an embassy ball. I met Bruce Wayne; he's an excellent dancer."

Steve blinked a few times before managing a shrug and a little laugh. "I don't know how to dance. I've always wanted to learn."

Cheerfully, she tugged him to the door. "Then I will teach you! What were you waiting for?" 

As he let her pull him along, he murmured, too quietly for her to hear, "The right partner."

Inside he surveyed the place as she led him to the dance floor. The decor was as wonderfully familiar as the music. Framed posters of the movie stars he had watched on the silver screen in his adolescence, signs printed in fonts long out of fashion, whimsical neon lights. Some of the patrons were even wearing 1940's clothes, and two women had done their hair and makeup to match. 

Diana grasped his hands and smiled up at him, radiant as the sun, as she showed him the box step. Steve moved his right hand to her back and she put her left on his shoulder, and in the proper stance they did the step a few times.

"That's it?" 

"That is the basis of it. There are endless variations to be learned and played with." She nodded at a nearby couple who were twirling around in elaborate, well-practiced moves. 

Steve felt familiar envy at the sight, which suddenly dissolved. All those years as a ninety-pound weakling, and now he was being taught to dance by a woman as courageous as she was beautiful, as loving as she was powerful. A superpowered princess who waltzed with billionaires. Not too shabby for a skinny kid from Brooklyn.

He smiled down at her. "Diana. Show me one of those variations." Obligingly, as she stepped back in their next box step she raised their lightly clasped hands and twirled under his arm, her glossy black hair and blue silk skirt flaring around her, before returning to him. Her eyes sparkled at him with the joy of the movement, and he caught his breath at the sight.

In the future, it seemed, anything was possible.


End file.
